#thanks dirt poor robins you helped make so much of my lore

[cloudbattrolls]

Cassandra

This drabble is preceded by It Has To Be True.

Process | Present Night | Civitrecce

Process closed their eyes as they stood at their viewing screen, trying to force emotion into their voice to sound sincere. Their clothes were still light, their room temperature controlled. It was the middle of the night, when most trolls would be taking their lunch breaks, if they got them. 

Civitrecce bustled below. Process felt strange looking at it, unable to inhabit it as they once had, but it was worse to be without the feed.

Especially now. When they had tried and failed to explain the danger the city was in to one of the only people who could do something about it. 

“Jastes. Please. I am not lying to you. Fetch Jamie if you like. He can tell you this is true.”

The cyborg’s voice came from the computer, pleasant and unbelieving.

“I’m not relying on a highblood who tried to capture me to tell me if someone who manipulated me is telling the truth. Even if you are, I don’t see how this is my problem.” 

Process shook their head, feeling their long hair tossing around their back.

“If the guardian frees itself, it will bring down the wrath of the empire on the city. Its existence will cause this before it ever acts.”

“So you say.” Replied Jastes, still pleasant. “I’ll investigate for myself. To see if this is a trap, or if there’s something down there the resistance could use. If Torvah did make this place, there might be something left.” 

“The resistance is finished.” Said Process tiredly. “You have to know that.” It wearily shook its head, even as the logical side of its brain told it there was no point.

“Don’t you speak to me that way.” Jastes’s voice was as sharp as the former AI had ever heard it. 

“You brought the empire down by pitting Jamie against me. You forced us to split up. You hurt us for some imagined good! Some great helm coalition! And for what? Nothing’s changed!”

Process opened their eyes, and turned to face the computer, which crackled slightly with green-tinted sparks.

“I’m sorry.”

Jastes laughed, bitter and derisive. The computer’s screen flickered, the colorful screensaver paused for a moment before continuing to draw its patterns.

“You suck at being a troll.”

“I know.” Said the yellowblood quietly. “Please. Listen to me. The guardian could trick you if you speak to it. Torvah made it not only as a defense system, but to lead the empire astray before it would have to fight at all. They wanted as little bloodshed as possible.”

“They also had crappy taste in friends.” The cyborg said pointedly. “I’m not sure I trust my ancestor much more than I trust you.”

Process took deep breaths, hands clenching. This cursed body had so many involuntary reactions. Chimer was forcing them to bear its whims so they could adjust. 

Supposedly this was a kindness.

“Don’t look for the guardian. Find your ancestor first.”

“Excuse me.” Said Jastes, curt and annoyed.

“I don’t know what happened to Torvah that night. When it all ended. I never saw them again, never got confirmation of their death.” Process said, eyes closed. Remembering.

Muting its audio input because the screams had become too much. 

Leeson, wandering, not knowing who or where he was. Unable to recognize them. Unable to recall them as anything but a thoughtless machine.

The city’s trolls fleeing. Failing. Caught by imperials who cheered to find such a fine bunch of psiionic trolls to put to work.

Smoke. Charred remains. Particulates blocking its screen.

Wiping its Spine’s memories, so the helms did not weep and quail.

Adjusting its own protocols. Taking away the pain. 

That had been the logical thing to do, so it could keep functioning.

For it could not ever leave. 

It had promised. It had let itself be bound here.

To watch over Civitrecce forever.

With effort, Process opened their eyes again. Difficult, but necessary. They had to keep trying.

“They may have escaped. They may still be out there. Hidden. If anyone could survive that long, it is them. They could help you.”

Process could basically feel the derision radiating off the computer screen. It was an odd experience. They had been able to detect emotions from trolls’ faces and body language for thousands of sweeps without being touched by it directly. It had been information to collect like anything else.

“Process. Get help.” Said Jastes, blunt but not entirely unkind. “I think becoming a troll has made you delusional. You’re not used to a flesh and blood body or a purely organic brain.”

The former AI didn’t speak, so the resistance leader continued.

“The empire would have never let my ancestor escape. They’re dead. No one’s coming to save me or help me. They never have been.”

Still Process didn’t say a word.

“Thanks for the tip. Hope it’s not a trap.”

The computer screen flickered again, and Jastes was gone.

Process looked at the ceiling of their room. Jamie had dropped by a few nights ago to decorate it with glow in the dark stars, claiming he couldn’t stand how boring it was.

Jastes could be going into a trap. He was also the best person to handle the guardian. The only troll who might have a chance of stopping whatever it was planning.

Could it truly escape? Process didn’t know. They weren’t taking chances. 

The empire would see it as nothing but a threat, and retaliate in kind. Lowbloods and helms alike would be caught in the crossfire.

“I’m supposed to keep you safe.” Process murmured. “Even from yourself. Until you are ready.”

Torvah had never gotten to the final stage of the project before Civitrecce had been taken. The guardian was incomplete. 

This wouldn’t have been a problem, as long as Process had remained in its Spine. As long as someone remained to watch over the city, even if far less effectively than was optimal.

They looked to their viewing screen again, watching passerby, only able to see the surface of the world, cut off from the flow of data beneath. It almost ached, raw from a gaping lack of what should have been.

Was that how the guardian felt? 

A sudden, strange thought. Process had never concerned itself with the artifice’s emotions before. Its head hurt. Its heart hurt. Even its lungs seemed to have trouble working, rasping as it struggled to get enough air down its throat. 

It put a hand to its face, faintly smelling the lotion it used to make sure its skin did not take on rough and unsettling textures.

“Jastes. I don’t know if I can endure what you have done to me.”

There was no answer, only the soft glowing of the ceiling stars, winking away as if to gently mock the former AI’s plight.